


look at where we started

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: after the night, the morning comes (or: star wars lawyers au) [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DD AU, Gen, Graveyard Visit, Guilt, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Redemption, anakin skywalker is a human disaster jfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He hasn’t been by her grave in months. More than a year. There’s no way Padmé and Obi-wan and Ahsoka and Luke and Leia haven’t kept her updated, though. What is he supposed to say--hi, Mom, it’s me, the biggest disappointment you know?</i>
</p><p>or: Anakin Skywalker visits his mother's grave. (alternatively: Shmi Skywalker, her son, and six feet of dirt between them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	look at where we started

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Hamilton's "It's Quiet Uptown", which was one of four songs I listened to obsessively while writing this.
> 
> spot the _In the Heights_ reference, btw!

It’s like the start of an incredibly morbid joke, Anakin thinks: a man walks into a graveyard with blood on his hands and says to a gravestone, “Sorry I’m late.” It’s a good set-up, there’s that note of shock and disorientation most good jokes start off with, all that’s left to do is tell the rest of it, tell the punchline.

Except there’s no punchline here, just a man walking into a graveyard with guilt gnawing at his heart and the cold seeping into his bones.

Anakin turns the collar of his coat up. It’s nowhere near as nice as what he’s gotten used to, but he’s broke and there aren’t many people left who trust him, he’s got to work with what he has. He shivers, shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, and breathes out.

In the cold air, his breath comes out in a white puff.

\--

(An interlude:

“I wanna be a lawyer, Mom.”

Shmi blinks, looks up from the soup she’s been stirring. Her son, all of eight years old, is staring at her from his chair with an intensity that she’s only seen reserved for Transformers and He-Man reruns before. “Hm?”

“I wanna be a lawyer, Mom,” Ani clarifies. “Like Mister Jinn.” He folds his arms, looks up at her, and says, “I’m gonna help people like us. I’m gonna help _you_.”

Shmi turns the stove off, lifts the pot up and sets it gently down in the middle of the table. “That,” she says, softly, “would be grand.” She sits down across from him, and says, “This won’t be like the astronaut dream, though, right?”

“It’s not gonna be like the astronaut dream, Mom,” says Ani, with an indignant huff. “I really wanna be a lawyer. And I’m gonna be the best lawyer, and I’m gonna come back here and get you out and we’ll live in those really big and really nice apartments on TV.”

Shmi props her elbows up. “You really do want to be a lawyer, huh,” she says. She supposes she should’ve seen this coming, Ani had followed Qui-gon Jinn around and asked him a hundred questions, and Jinn had, miracle of miracles, bent down to his level and answered all of them.

The thing is--she knows, in her heart, that her Ani deserves bigger things. He’s a bright little boy, and she knows that he can’t stay here, in a little one-bedroom apartment that leaks too often. She wants so many things for him that’d be impossible on their shoestring budget, and if he hadn’t been this sure, this stubbornly set on it, this dream of becoming a lawyer would be just as impossible on that budget.

But they’re Skywalkers--they make their own way, no matter the odds, if they’re really set on something. Shmi had been set on raising Ani herself, after all, is still set on making her way through community college even with a little boy and three different jobs, no matter what anyone says. She knows she’ll make it through, somehow.

She knows they’ll both make it through.

Ani nods. “I’m gonna be the best lawyer,” he says, loftily. “I just know it.”

“Well, then,” says Shmi, standing up and opening up the cabinet, taking out the jar full of condiments and hot sauce packets and emptying it out over their table, “I think we’d best get started on getting you there.”)

\--

He hasn’t been by the grave in months. He could say he’s busy, he could say he’s been readjusting to being out of prison and back in the real world, he could say a lot of things, and none of them would be true.

Obi-wan’s visited, and he’s running a law firm. Padmé’s visited, and she’s juggling their kids and her job at Metro General and her _other_ job as the Night Doctor. Hell, even _Ahsoka’s_ visited, and she’s fucking _Fulcrum_. Luke and Leia have visited and they’re Spider-man and Hawkeye, on top of all their homework and exams and social lives.

Anakin hasn’t got an excuse, when he looks at them.

And--guilt isn’t an excuse. See, he can do a lot of things, even with the guilt he’s been carrying around. He should’ve been able to do this months ago. He should’ve been able to do a lot of things, really.

He stops in his tracks beside a huge tree, its branches bare of any leaves. He could turn back. He could go back to Obi-wan, in the parking lot, say that he visited and said his piece, and Obi-wan wouldn’t know otherwise. He _could_.

He couldn’t.

But--he can’t really bring himself to take another step. He sinks down, sitting in between the roots of the tree, a hand on its bark. Curls up on himself and just _breathes_ , in, out, in, out.

It’s stupid. He _knows_ it’s stupid, to be this worried about how his mother might think of him now. He knows it, logically, knows that his mother is dead and thus wouldn’t really care per se, but.

He hasn’t been by her grave in months. More than a year, in fact. There’s no way Padmé and Obi-wan and Ahsoka and Luke and Leia haven’t kept her updated, though. What is he supposed to say-- _hi, Mom, it’s me, the biggest disappointment you know_?

(Breathe, Skywalker. Just breathe.)

He stands up.

He starts to walk, slowly, surely, puts one foot in front of the other.

(Just breathe.)

\--

(An interlude:

“Hey, Mom,” says Ani, lifting up his own little girl and smiling sheepishly at Shmi. “I wish we didn’t have to do this--”

“Nonsense,” says Shmi, picking up little Luke as he tugs at her sleeve. Padmé comes in just then, with a bag full of baby things and an exhausted look on her face, and gives Shmi a tired smile. “I’m always happy to look after my grandkids, Ani, you know that.”

“They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?” Padmé asks, worried. “Guys, please don’t give your grandmother hell.”

“Gramma!” Leia exclaims gleefully, eliciting a chuckle out of Ani as his little girl reaches out tiny hands to grab on to her grandmother. From what Shmi knows, apparently she was quick to start talking. “Pick up!”

“No ‘ell,” Luke solemnly says, looking at his mother with all the intensity of a two-year-old who’s only just learned to start speaking.

“They won’t give her hell,” says Ani, loyally. “Right, kids?”

Leia nods, just as solemn as her brother’s vow. Ani sets her down onto the couch, as Padmé sets the bag down on Shmi’s coffee table, the one with all of Ani’s old drawings littering the surface. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, Leela,” Ani whispers, and he presses a soft kiss against the top of Leia’s head.

Then he rushes over to Shmi’s side and does the same to Luke.

“Good luck on your case, Ani,” says Shmi. She glances at Padmé and adds, “And good luck on getting that promotion, Padmé.”

“Thanks, Shmi,” says Padmé, and this time her smile is much more genuine. “Seriously--thanks so _much_ , I know this is all short-notice--”

“I told you already,” Shmi says, with a huff of laughter, “I’ll always want to look after my grandkids. They’re good kids.” And even if they weren’t, she’s a mother, she’s had practice in looking after little hellions, even one like Ani, so determined to make things easy on her.

Luke says, happily, “G’amma,” and buries his face against her neck. He’s got his father’s eyes, she thinks. He’s got Ani’s eyes, blue like the skies.

“Thanks, Mom,” says Ani, as Padmé rushes out, pulling out her ringing phone to try and placate her boss. “I love you.”

Shmi smiles. “I love you too, Ani,” she says, and he gives her a peck on the cheek before rushing out to join his wife.)

\--

A man walks into a graveyard, blood on his hands and guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders, sinks to his knees at his mother’s grave, and says, in a voice shakier than usual, “Hey, Mom.”

There’s nothing. Anakin’s not sure if he should be relieved, that he didn’t hear booming voices or feel winds kicking up or get struck down by lightning on the spot. He breathes out.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited in--a while,” he says. “I’ve--I kind of--I was in jail. For--a lot of things.” There, that’s out, everything else should be easier to get through. “I’m okay, though, I’m out on parole now. All I had to do was tell them everything.” Every single thing he’s ever done, every single deal he’s ever sat on or negotiated, every person he paid off to look the other way, everyone he’s ever hurt, everything. “I mean, I’m not--”

It sticks in his throat.

(Once upon a time he looked up at his mother and said, _I wanna be a lawyer._ )

“I’m not a lawyer anymore,” he says, at last. “Disbarred. You know.”

There’s still nothing. Anakin’s gaze drops to his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m--fuck, Mom, I’m _sorry_. I wanted to--I wanted to do a lot of things, I wanted to clean up all the shit in the neighborhood and I just--but I did the exact opposite, and now Leia hates me and she and Luke have been trying to fix what I fucked up and they should be--they shouldn’t be doing that, they should be having crushes and complaining about teachers and worrying over their grades, they shouldn’t be out at night getting into _fights_.”

He huffs out a breath, reaches up to wipe at his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, breath hitching. “I--I’m sorry, Mom, I really am. I know that’s not enough, Leia was kind enough to tell me that--”

(Leia had been so _angry_ \--)

“--but what else can I _say_? I haven’t--I don’t know what to do, Mom, I wish you could tell me, because what can I _do_? How did you--How did you raise me, I’ve got all the help I could ask for and I still feel like I’m doing something wrong, and--I’ve done enough wrong, I want to do something _right_ for once.” He breathes again, in, out, in, out. _Just breathe._

He can breathe. That’s. That’s something. “I miss you,” he says, lowly. “I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry--for being late, for breaking my promise, for everything. I’m _sorry_.”

And that’s when the wind kicks up. Anakin huffs out a breath, draws his coat tighter around himself. He should probably take that as a sign, or something.

He stays on his knees.

“I’m--trying to fix it,” he says, at last. “I mean, I fucked up a lot. It’s only fair I try to fix some of it.” He runs a hand through his hair--he should really get it cut, he thinks. It’s getting long enough that he could put it up in a ponytail. Should secretaries have long hair, he wonders. “I know me wanting to fix things is where all this trouble started, but I--”

 _I promise,_ he almost says. But he’s broken a lot of those already.

“I can’t not,” he says. “I can’t not try, at least. And believe me, it won’t be so grand as the last time I tried to fix things. I don’t have that power anymore.” And it’s probably for the best, he’s sure. “I let you down, and I’m sorry, I am. All I know I can do now is fix things, and--I think I can do that. I mean, I fixed Gertrude.” He breathes out again, feels almost lighter for it, the guilt backing off a little. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He takes his glove off, the edges of his tattoo peeking out over his coat’s sleeve, reaches out, and traces his mother’s name on the cold gravestone.

“I love you, Mom,” he says. “I’ll come by more often. I’ll do better. I won’t let you down again.” _I promise,_ he doesn’t say, but it’s there all the same.

The wind picks up again, but gentler this time. It feels, almost, like forgiveness, like a benediction.

“I love you,” he says, again.

\--

(An interlude:

“You took your sweet time,” Obi-wan says, when Anakin finally gets into the car. “Doing okay?”

Anakin lets his head fall against the headrest. “Do you think Mom would be disappointed?” he asks. “Just--I haven’t exactly been a good person.”

“Shmi was an understanding woman,” says Obi-wan, at last. “She wouldn’t be happy, about all that you did, but I believe she would’ve forgiven you.” He looks at Anakin, who pulls one knee up to his chest and lets out a breath. “I _know_ ,” he amends, “that she would’ve forgiven you. And encouraged you to forgive yourself.”

“Have you been reading self-help books, Ben?” Anakin asks, after a long silence. “Is that it? Do you have a collection of them back at home, and I just haven’t found them yet?”

“Hilarious,” Obi-wan dryly says. “But my point still stands.”

Anakin runs his hand through his hair, and Obi-wan allows himself a moment to watch him, the edges of his tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. “I don’t know about that,” he says, at last. “I’m not a good person.”

“You are,” says Obi-wan, firmly. If someone had told him years ago he’d be trying to reassure Anakin that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was, he figures he would’ve laughed at them. Probably.

He supposes it depends on when the question gets posed.

“Thanks,” Anakin says, his tone dry. “I’m not, though. I probably won’t be, but--I’ve got to try, right?”

“ _Do or do not, there is no try_ ,” Obi-wan quotes, and Anakin makes a face at him and reaches over. Obi-wan reaches up and grabs his wrist, says, “Let me finish. These are extenuating circumstances. I believe even our old kendo instructor would allow _trying_ , in such a situation like this.”

“I can’t believe you still remember all the crazy shit Yoda said,” Anakin complains. “It’s been _years_. Isn’t he off in Tibet?”

“Last I checked, yes,” says Obi-wan. “Where was I? Right. You’re not half as terrible as you think you are. Your mother certainly thought you were something special, and I am inclined to believe her. She was--and even now remains--one of the wisest women I’ve ever met.”

Anakin straps himself in, says, tiredly, “Yeah, she was. Wish she was still around, she always knew what to say when I had trouble.”

“She’d say the same thing I just told you,” says Obi-wan. “You’re better than you think you are, Anakin.”

Anakin stares up at him, and says, “I wish I could believe that.”)

\--

fin.


End file.
